The Hunger Games: A Different Point of View
by au revoir sim1
Summary: Ever wondered what was going through Peeta's head throughout everything? Well, get ready to find out, because this is my take on The Hunger Games from Peeta's point of view.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Hey guys! I know this is really stupid of me, because I apparently can't even manage to update the stories I have up already (bows head in shame) but I recently saw the new Hunger Games movie, which was an amazing movie by the way, and that seemed to reignite my passion for the series in general. Now I know this has probably been done a ton of times, but I'd really like to see if I can tell the story from Peeta's point of view. Now I'm not a guy, so I'm sorry if this doesn't sound like it's coming from a boy, but I'm trying my best. Anyway, here it is!**_

_**-au revoir sim1**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games. If I did, I would be a genius, now I wouldn't I?**_

When I wake up, it's to a loud pounding on my door. I am disoriented for a few moments, blinking and yawning in perfect ignorance. My mother opens the door, anger and bitterness written clearly in the lines of her weary face. My mother was pretty once upon a time. It seems hard to believe now, but I've seen the pictures, of a young, fresh-faced woman completely jubilant to be alive and in love. No one says it, but we all know why she changed. "Get dressed and go downstairs now Peeta!" I can't resent her for the way she talks to me. I think it's because I look like my father too much. The man she knows deep down can never fully love her the way I believe he still loves someone else. After all, I still see him looking at her sometimes. When he thinks no one can see.

She turns to leave, then, an afterthought: "And wear something nice today. I will not have my children embarrassing us by showing up to a reaping in something a seam child would wear." Ah. There goes my blissful naivety. Today is the reaping. I feel my stomach flip. I'm nervous. I shouldn't necessarily be nervous. My name is only in there about five times. I'm more worried for someone else. Someone with pretty gray eyes and a smile, although rare, that is luminous enough to light up any day. I try to forget about that, as I get up and get dressed for the day.

By the time I make it downstairs, my father is already hard at work, skinning a nice sized squirrel. Putting on an apron, I cover my hands in flour and set to work kneading the bread dough. "Did Katniss bring that?" I wince. I've asked the question quickly, way too quickly; I don't sound merely curious. My father just shakes his head. "No, it was that boy that she hunts with. The Hawthorne boy. Poor kid. I don't think the odds are in his favor."

Oh. That one. The guy who looks similar enough to Katniss to be her cousin, brother even. He's also the guy who she spends all her time with. As well as the only person other than her sister who she'll give the time of day. My father has also reminded me about how crappy the odds really are for seam kids, and I feel that nervous fluttery feeling start up in my stomach.

We both fall into a comfortable silence as the two of us concentrate on preparing the items that will be on sale in the bakery later on in the day. It's really easy to just stand here and work like this with my father. He's much calmer than my other, and in my opinion a bit too gentle. He lets my mother push him around too much, anyway. I've made that promise to myself. That no matter what happens, no matter whom I end up with, (and I acknowledge that it probably won't be Katniss) I won't completely bow down, like my father. I won't completely give up. I won't let my children live in fear of angry words and fists.

We've been working for about two hours before my father turns to me and tells me I can go work in the front now. My brother has come downstairs for his shift in the kitchen.

It's a slow morning. Very few people are up this early on a reaping day, and those who are don't particularly want to focus on buying bread. I find my thoughts straying to the subject of Katniss. The girl I've been in love with since the first grade, but who hasn't even talked to me once. I'm embarrassed at my pathetic attempts to woe her. Or should I say non-existent attempts. The only time she's ever really noticed me was … well that night in the rain. When my own mother wanted to turn her away. I don't know how she can be so cold hearted sometimes.

At around noon, my mother comes in. She doesn't speak, simply sets down a bowl of vegetable stew, and a piece of stale sourdough bread from a few days before. It's funny. Everyone thinks that simply because my father's a merchant, I get full access of everything in our bakery. This is not actually the case. My family never goes hungry, but we do have to eat stale food most of the time, and barely ever receive meat, (unless brought to us by Katniss or Gale).

After I finish my lunch, my mother storms in. It appears something has set her off, but I know better; she just gets angrier as the day goes on. She snaps at me: "Get upstairs and get presentable! Comb your hair, it looks like a rats nest!" I bound upstairs, not in the mood to upset her today.

Twenty minutes later, my family is on our way to the square, all as presentable as possible. My blond hair is slicked back, blue dress shirt tucked into my nicest pair of pants. My brother Yarrow and I go up to sign in. This will be his last year doing a reaping. My oldest brother goes with my parents. He's no longer eligible for reaping.

As the square grows more crowded, I join a group of boys I'm friendly with at school. They're fellow merchant boys, tell tale blue eyes and fine clothing immediately giving them away.

Up at the front of the square sit two people: Mayor Undersee, who's actually a good friend of my father's, and Effie Trinket, who is District 12's escort. She is clearly from The Capitol, with her strange pink hair, bright green suit, and of course, ever present smile. They keep glancing at a third chair. I realized this is where the only District 12 victor should sit, Haymitch Abernathy.

Finally, (without waiting for Haymitch to show up), the mayor begins to read the story of our history, the history of Panem. Once it was North America, but being pummeled by disasters, droughts, storms, fires, and colossal floods, led to a large war, which eventually resulted in Panem, a nation made up of The Capitol and its 13 surrounding districts.

Of course the peace didn't last long. What followed were the dark days, the uprising of the 13 districts against the Capitol. The first twelve districts were beaten into submission, and the thirteenth, destroyed. This was the birth of the Hunger Games. As punishment, every year, each district for the past 74 years must now volunteer a boy and a girl, (tributes), and make them compete in a fight to the death. The winning tribute's district will receive food and luxuries; the others are forced to cope.

I would never admit it, (because it's dangerous to criticize the Capitol) but it's barbaric, the way they not only force children to kill each other, but glorify it as well, turning it into a celebration.

Finally, as the Mayor begins to read past victors, (two, one of whom is dead), Haymitch Abernathy finally decides to show up. Haymitch is a middle aged, potbellied man, and is clearly very drunk. He barely manages to collapse into the third chair, before staggering up again and trying to hug a very disgruntled Effie. I find myself stifling a laugh, if only because Effie's smiling composure is broken.

Effie gets up to the microwave and gives everyone a large, fake smile. She goes on to wish us a "Happy Hunger Games!" She goes on then about honor and nobility, smiling brightly all the while, but I don't know whom she's trying to fool. She's clearly not happy to be stuck with our District. And who would blame her? Being groped by a drunken middle-aged man isn't really anyone's cup of tea, not anyone that I know. I feel bad for her actually. It must be hard getting to know these children every year and every having to … well, having to see them die.

Finally, Effie gets through with what I guess she thinks is a motivational speech, and starts the reaping. "Ladies First!" Her smile is so wide I don't know how it's going to fit on her face. She reaches into the bowl, and unfolds the small white slip of paper, seeming to take forever. I hold my breath. Please don't let it be Katniss. Please.

And then it isn't Katniss. And before I can feel relief I feel horror because I realize who it is.

The little girl who loves to look at the cakes in our window. The little girl who is the only one who can always get Katniss to smile.

And although it's not Katniss, it's almost worse.

Because it's Primrose Everdeen.

_**A/N: Well I hope you liked it! I'd really like to hear what you think, so let me know! :)**_


	2. Chapter 2

The next couple of seconds are awful. Katniss looks dazed, like she hasn't realized what's going on. Poor Prim is walking up toward Effie Trinket, hands are her side clutching the skirt of her dress, knuckles white. Poor Prim. Everyone knows that there's no way she can make it. And poor Katniss. Prim is her world. If she dies …

"Prim!"

Katniss has woken from her daze. I silently beg her not to make a scene. This is already hard enough for Prim. Maybe that Seam boy she's always with will lead her away. Make sure she stays out of trouble.

"Prim!"

Katniss is moving. She marches towards the steps of the podium and sweeps Prim behind her. "I volunteer." My heart stops. "I volunteer as tribute." And then it plummets into my stomach.

Not Katniss. The games. For someone from District 12, being reaped for the games is a death sentence. The last victor from 12 is Haymitch Abernathy, and he's so drunk that there's no way he could pass on anything of use to any tribute.

Effie seems unsure of herself. There's never been a volunteer from 12 ever. She has no idea how to deal with the situation, but she smiles widely anyway.

"Lovely! But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um …"

The mayor steps in. "What does is matter?" He pauses, staring down at Katniss. She's so small. Is there any way she could win the games? "What does it matter?" he repeats. "Let her come forward."

At that point Prim begins to scream, and I wince. This is hard enough without having to watch Prim being forcibly removed from her sister. "No, Katniss! No! You can't go!"

"Prim let go. Let go." I find it remarkable that Katniss manages not to cry. It will look better, I suppose, if she presents a brave front. She doesn't want to appear weak. I can't be weakness, though, to cry at a time like this. Can it?

Finally the Seam boy has moved toward the stage and grabs Prim away from Katniss. He says something to her softly, and then he's carrying a crying Prim toward her mother.

Effie Trinket is beside herself with the joy of finally having a volunteer in her district. "Well, bravo! That's the spirit of the Games! What's your name?"

When Katniss speaks her voice is steady, if a bit hoarse. "Katniss Everdeen."

Effie smiles in what I think she presumes to be a kind and gentle manner. It's still frightening. "I'll bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on everyone! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!"

There's no way I'm clapping. I won't applaud the death of the girl I think I lo-

No one else claps either. It's silent, as everyone stares up at the stage. Then, one, then another, and another, and finally the whole audience, myself included, kiss the three middle fingers of our left hands and hold them out. It is a sign of respect. It is a way of saying goodbye. It's usually only used at funerals. I think it is very likely that I may cry.

Katniss looks like she might cry as well. That is, until Haymitch chooses that moment to partake in one of his drunken ramblings. He staggers across the stage toward Katniss. "Look at her! Look at this one!" He slings an arm around her shoulders. Katniss looks like she wants to be anywhere but there next to him. Effie looks scandalized. "I like her! Lots of … spunk! More than you!" He walks toward the front of the stage. "More than you!" He is pointing at one of the cameras. Before I can decide whether Haymitch is directing his comments towards District 12 or the Capitol, he trips off the stage and lies on the ground, unconscious.

As Haymitch is taken away on a stretcher, Effie tries desperately to fix the situation. She also tries desperately to fix her wig, which has been knocked askew. "What an exciting day!" Tug on wig. "But more excitement to come!" Tug tug. "It's time to choose our boy tribute!"

Effie walks over and pulls out a name. There is less of a pause this time. She reads out the name quickly. "Peeta Mellark!"

It takes me a few seconds. Then it hits me. She means me. It is the best and worst situation I can think of. I am devastated and ecstatic. Because this for me is a death sentence. There's no way I'll make it out of the games alive. Because I'll be too busy making sure that Katniss makes it. As long as I'm alive in those games I can make sure she's okay.

I don't waste any time, walking toward the stage purposefully, trying not to show fear. Because really I am terrified. Not only is it the games, but I'll have to be in there with Katniss. It's a dream and a nightmare all wrapped into one. When I get to the podium Effie smiles and shakes my hand, and then she begins calling out for volunteers. No one volunteers. I didn't expect anyone to. It would be selfish of me to expect my brother to go in my place. This was his last year. Now he's free. Finally, the Mayor stands up and begins reading the Treaty of Treason. It's long, and boring, and the entire time I try to stealthily catch Katniss's eye and give her reassurance, or even just a smile. She's looking down, however, lost in thought.

Finally, the Treaty reading is over, and Effie has us shake hands. This is my opportunity. I have to do something. She looks so small and sad standing there across from me. As we shake hands I make eye contact with her and give her hand a small squeeze. It's not much, but I want to let her know that I'm there. That there's someone in this with her who'll do his best to make sure she's okay.

We both turn away as the Panem Anthem plays. There are only 24 of us. All I have to do is protect her from 22 other people. The odds don't seem to be in my favor for this one.

Of course, the odds have not been very dependable of late.

_**A/N: A new update! I'm sure you all thought I forgot about this story! I'm so sorry this took so long and I really will try to get out more updates more often. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter! I'll try to get another one out in about 2 weeks. Oh! And thank you so much to anyone that has followed/reviewed the story so far!**_

_**-Au Revoir Sim1**_


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